Changeling (Book 1) Rated R

Chapter 32

I sat up, gasping for air.

A large, steady male hand gripped my shoulder and the same person held a cup of something hot to my lips.

"Drink, child." The man ordered.

I fought it at first, until a second male wound around the first.

Christian.

A familiar face, finally.

"Don't think about it, just drink. Focus on me if you need to."

I gripped the mug, forcing my imagination not to run wild with what might be in its contents.

A bitter, metallic taste slithered down my throat followed by a sweet, sweet nectar, mixed with a hint of what I was sure had to be ginger.

I gulped down the last of the drink and ran an arm across the back of my mouth. My eyes were immediately drawn to the crimson coating my sleeve and I nearly fainted.

"Was that blood?" I breathed. "You gave me blood?"

"Actually, that was a healing potion. Faerie magic, but yes, mixed with blood given your soulsucker genes."

My stomach turned while my eyes drifted up to the source of the voice to the aged face of the man I'd seen before, in the vision of a crumbling sky.

He was an older vampire, with a long braid hanging down his back. His eyes were blue and clouded over, as if some type of disease had claimed them. A long, brown robe clung to his lean frame, fastened at the waste by a purple rope.

Christian's words about how vampires aged came to me and I wondered what century this particular man was from.

Because looking at him was like looking into the past.

Dizzy, I looked away, taking in the room.

It was in the form of a circle, walls lined with bookcases with red velvet wallpaper sticking out between shelves. Leather bound books, thick and weathered, with spines in a foreign language dotted the many bookcases. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its arms like the horns of a ram, curling up toward the sky, each holding a slow burning candle that lit up the room.

A soft orange glow cast onto the face of the man who knelt in front of me.

"Are you okay?" Christian asked.

I saw him swallow and found his eyes pinched at the corners, something I'd come to realize only happened when he was stressed or angry.

His hair was messy, the collar of his shirt stretched as if he'd been tugging at it.

Nodding my head, I asked, "What happened?"

Christian looked up to the older man in the room, the one who had fed me blood.

I was still reeling about that, halfway about to vomit, halfway ready to bolt from the room.

"Grandfather Nandru, perhaps you can better explain."

"Yes," The grandfather said. "As I'm sure you've come to realize by now, as a hybrid, you have the power to heal." His words came out melodiously, as if he were crafting a song with the baritone of his voice.

"Your power to heal comes from spirits. Use too much spirit, and eventually you will begin using your own. Use enough to bring someone back from the edge of death, as is my understanding that you tried to do, will certainly cause you to become trapped in the place where restless spirits go."

"The in-between." I muttered.

"So, you know of the in-between?" The grandfather asked, curiosity piqued.